


The Forked Road

by Skeren



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: M/M, Mentions of genocide, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:04:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeren/pseuds/Skeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the war in Ishbal, both Kimbley and Roy made a lot of choices. Some worked out for the better... and some not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Written in January and February of 2006.

He woke to the feel of a finger running over his cheek, and warm breath brushing over his face. “Wakie wakie Flame, time to get to work.” 

Only luck, and perhaps some quick reflexes, kept the pair from smacking foreheads when the dark-eyed alchemist shot upright, hands already reaching for his gloves. 

“Twitchy this morning are we?” The long haired man stood back, watching the way his tentmate finally blinked into reality with a small smirk. “Though, I suppose that is a good thing, wouldn’t want you to get killed out on the field now would we?”

Scowling as he recognized the cause behind his annoyance, he pointedly pulled his gloves on, making it clear that he dearly wished to use them on the source. “You shouldn’t be so happy first thing in the morning, especially not about the idea of killing people.”

“What’s this now? Do I hear the twittering of your moral dilemmas again? Why, I believe that I do!" Shaking his head as he shot the seated alchemist a mischievous glance, he tugged on his undershirt. “Honestly, that crap is going to get you killed out there. You should go with me on my raid tonight, instead of heading off alone like you usually do.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Unlike the taller alchemist, he didn’t stop at the undershirt, making sure he was fully in uniform before he looked over, gauging the other man’s expression. It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked, and he’d never felt the urge to accept, but something about the tone of the man’s voice unnerved him. 

“Why wouldn’t you? It’ll be beautiful you know. But, if you don’t come with me then it will just be me against the world. You’d be just fine with that, wouldn’t you?” He cocked his head, spreading his hands in a grand motion, as though unveiling some masterpiece, though the gold gaze never actually left the other man. 

Ever since they’d gotten the stone, the other alchemist had started to veer away from fighting the enemy, into fighting anyone. It made him shudder to even think of what would happen if the man went wild on the field. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t.” Roy peered down at his arm, straightening the cuff of the uniform so he wouldn’t watch the way the other man was fingering the pendant hanging from his neck. 

“And I had such plans too… I’ll meet you by the main tent after breakfast then. Later Flame.” With a smirk and a flick of his ponytail, the man ducked out of sight, heading out into the main encampment. 

Roy Mustang couldn’t help but feel that he’d just changed something very important about the future, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what.


	2. Marked

It was intensity. Fires, explosions, screams, smoke, everything that was war. There was also laughter, it was not really sane laughter, but Roy had little choice than to follow that voice, having already averted more than one disaster by getting between the crazed man and their troops. So many of their underlings almost killed because the man seemed to honestly see no difference between them and the enemy wherever his mind had gone. 

It wasn’t much of a consolation when the man backed off from killing someone he shouldn’t only to stroke the other alchemist’s cheek, array hot in a way ink shouldn’t be against his skin, leaving ashes on him, blood. The Flame alchemist felt marked, following a crazed man, listening to lewd words outlining things that the long-haired figure wanted to do, things he wouldn’t do because he didn’t want to damage the smaller man who kept getting in the way. Not that he used those words, the phrase ‘little darling’ taking on whole other connotations when crooned in the same breath as his wish to see a small child melt into the desert landscape. 

It was a long, horrible night, and he knew he’d never get that purring tenor out of his mind again, that he would always hear those too sweet words when he smelled smoke. Only physically snatching the other alchemist close had saved some, and even then, only when the military was involved. The officials could overlook dead women and children, was more than willing to say they had never been there when the morning came. Soldiers would not have been something to be written off in the same manner. Because he was there that was not at all an issue, never had fuel to become one.

It was hard to tell when day came. He was exhausted in every way, strained to the limits with the effort of saving as many lives as he’d taken in the night, and he could have cried when he realized it was sunbeams he was seeing, and not flames at all, that were lighting the sky. His companion was just as bad off by the time the light started to show. Worse even, shaking under some strain the Flame Alchemist didn’t understand. The dark-eyed alchemist started to pull them back to camp, ever wary of the crazed gleam in the other man’s eyes.

“No… I’m not done. Can’t you see there’s more? There’s so much more and I’m not _finished_.” The words were low, fevered.

“I can’t see it Kimbley. I don’t _want_ to see it.” He looked down, realized for the first time that the blood Crimson had on his hands was his own, fresh from his palms. “You need to rest, you’ve overextended yourself, and you’ll be no good to anyone if you pass out.”

“Damn it Flame, no! Not yet.” His voice dropped into a whisper, gold eyes watching the sun peek through the clouds of ash. “Not yet.”

Turning his head to follow the bomber’s gaze, he locked his jaw, pushing the taller alchemist to sit on a large stone that once might have been part of some building. “Fine, have your display.” 

Nothing more was said as Kimbley watched the sunrise through flames and smoke; the smaller alchemist crouched at his feet as he wrapped hastily torn cloth around bleeding arrays.


	3. Bound

It was over. Standing at the top of the hill, eyes peering over the beauty of destruction, it became clear that there was simply nothing else left. Oh, he knew there were stragglers, rebels that had gotten away children or pregnant women, but he couldn’t honestly say he cared. The military would hunt them down, and they would perish just like the rest of their religion-centered race. 

Religion was a wholly useless thing anyway, and it deserved to be dealt with like this, the people shown how utterly stupid the whole idea was. He knew that not everyone would agree, but he hardly cared what anyone else thought anyway. He terrified the troops, and it was better like that, with his plans going well and Flame acting as a buffer between him and the idiot bureaucrats that had descended with the close of this ‘war’.

He’d heard about the Crystal Alchemist’s defection a few weeks prior, and he’d found irony in the fact that the man had taken their backup supply of weapons with him. Really, that was the reason why the battle came to a close, not anything that concerned the political or the social. It was just a simple lack of the proper ammunition. Mustang had been with him when the cease-fire was called, and he’d nearly laughed over the relief on the idiot man’s face. 

It was amusing, the fact that the fire wielding man actually thought he had some kind of hold on him. He didn’t, but it suited them both for him to believe it was so. It had kept him away from the tents when Marco had fled, some lowly sniper, Hawkeye, being charged on grounds of aided desertion. At least dealing with him had kept Gran from sending his pet to deal with the doctors. It would have been just the kind of thing the man would have done too, considering how much he hated any kind of innate ability that his fellow alchemists might show. 

No, instead Flame had been with him, just as he had been since the night his arrays had made themselves a permanent part of his flesh. Smiling to himself, he reached out, running a fingertip along the side of the small alchemist’s neck, resting the array against his nape. 

“Tell me, does it make you happy we’re soon going to be home again?”

The man tensed, was always so tense when he used that tone of voice, but he didn’t mind. Eventually, the man would relax, would get used to the idea that the military would not separate them after his display of near insanity on the field. There was no reason to break the news to him just yet. Still, he did want an answer, and the silence that met his question was simply an inadequate substitute.

Sliding around behind the still figure, he rested his other hand on his shoulder, an amused smirk crossing his face. “Well?”

“I’d hardly call anywhere where you are home Kimbley.” The words were almost as low as his had been, and it made him smile to hear the sharp tone.

“I guess you’ll never be able to call anywhere home then hm?” He rested his hands lightly on the man’s shoulders, voice dipping down into a whisper. “Didn’t you know we’re going to Central together? It’s going to be terribly interesting, don’t you think?”

A beautifully angry, frightened glare was the perfect reply to his inquiry, and he let the man go when he ducked away. Better to let the little kitten ask his questions and seal the deal all by his lonesome.

There was really no need to tell him he’d been lying when he was certain his prediction was about to come true.


End file.
